


Asymptotes

by nimrodcracker



Series: a blinding flash [7]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: F/F, Get ready for a shitload of Angst, No Happy Ending (Read The Title), Post-Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-18 10:40:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10615203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimrodcracker/pseuds/nimrodcracker
Summary: Jenessa pursed her lips, releasing a breath that lasted at least five seconds. She lumbered back to her seat, scrolling though the multitude of reasons why she couldn't return to the vault.Well, not really. Her mind was tellingly blank."Okay, okay." She sat once more, sinking on the stool. "I'll drop by soon. You'll be telling her that, then?""Nope, I'm on a caravan run to Canterbury Commons. I just dropped by to deliver her message." Susie hesitated, then placed a hand on Jenessa's shoulder. "People do miss you, Jen." She smiled softly. "Especially her."





	1. Lone Wanderer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lone Wanderer's perspective on things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This used to be a part of a bigger project I had in mind, where I try to bridge FO3 and FO4 where my Lone Wanderer ends up working for the Railroad bc reasons, but that was a few years ago and, well, life happened. Might as well publish them before they rot eternally. 
> 
> also [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8f3R0hdY1nc) is worth listening to while reading bc it _perfectly_ captures how i'd characterise the Amata/F!LW dynamic and it's just. So. Sad. Mayday Parade is the go-to band for these sort of things.

"Jenessa. My offer still stands."

Jenessa stilled, hands frozen in the act of rearranging folded clothes in her knapsack.

_Knight._ A significant rank in itself; even more because of her future unit. A courtesy, offered because of everything she'd done for the Brotherhood.

The Enclave had been all but wiped out. The purifier chip, after years of of tinkering, was finally producing clean water that gradually filtered to the fringes of the country. The Capital Wasteland was itself again; free from external powers hellbent on domination. Jenessa could finally sit down and start rebuilding, and the Brotherhood offer was fortuitously timely.

But Jenessa still hurt in places, and it wasn't just her throbbing muscles. "I'm sorry, Sarah. I just, don't...think I can handle any responsibilities. Right now." She hoped she sounded apologetic enough, because she was. Knapsack straps in hand, she squeezed them periodically, hoping that would quieten her galloping pulse.

It only beat faster. "Like, I'm very humbled that you think me, a not-exceptional techie who's handy with a wrench, is quality enough for your elite unit. But I'm just, not ready," she sighed gently, bruised ribs hurting from that mere effort. Her shoulders drooped. "I'm not ready."

"Hey, kid." A hand perched itself on her shoulder - _Sarah's_. Jenessa was surprised that it wasn't the heavy touch of a glove, of cool metal pieces interwoven with fabric, so she leant into the touch.

"No pressure," Sarah continued. "Lyon's Pride will always have a spot for you. I'll keep it that way."

"Thank you." Jenessa felt the nervousness go. "You're being too kind again. I don't deserve it. But thanks."

"Stuff your thanks, kid. You give yourself too little credit." Sarah's touch lingered for a moment before vanishing with the smart click-click of boot heels. "Drop by here sometime, okay? Can't guarantee I'll always see you in the wasteland."

The door slid shut with a whoosh, and Jenessa was left alone in her quarters again.

She resumed packing the last of her belongings on her bed into her knapsack, her movements lacking energy. Somehow, it felt as if she'd just condemned herself to more suffering. Being twenty and terribly alone in this wasteland, the Brotherhood provided everything she didn't have; resources, security. Companionship. All three exponentially increased one's chance of survival.

She stopped as she slung her knapsack on a shoulder, realisation jolting her. _No._ She had family, she had friends. Plenty more acquaintances, too - all those people she'd helped in recent memory. But she had them.

With newfound lightness in her limbs, she strolled out of her room and out of the Citadel, feet walking towards a destination her mind took an hour to realise.

How could she have forgotten Megaton?

* * *

Jenessa all but collapsed on the welcome mat after she slammed the front door shut, soaked coveralls weighing her down like an anchor. The door vibrated against her back, pummelled by vicious raindrops that poured outside.

Thunder sounded once, ominous like the rumble of vertibird engines. Chills ran down her spine. Shutting her eyes, she prepared for the heavy footfalls of power armour and sour tang of liquefied plasm-

"Madame! You're back. It's so good to see... Are you alright, Madame?"

She opened her eyes. Wadsworth bobbed in front of her, his one working eyelight dimmed. He was worried.

"Perfectly alright, Wads," she said. "I just got caught in the rain, so I'm feeling-" she quirked her brows "- _down_."

Wadsworth trilled with laughter. "Thank _goodness_ you're alright. Given recent events, I expected you to be in worse shape - but enough of that!"

His spindly hand-legs spun clockwise, stopping when he found the hand with a bottle of amber liquid. He held it out. "Nuka-Cola for you, Madame. Chilled to perfection!"

Jenessa grinned. She grabbed it, popped the cap and glugged down the liquid in a single motion, much to Wadsworth's annoyance. Yes, her clothes were soaked through, but it was _Nuka-Cola_ she was drinking. She could always change later.

Something occurred to her after she belched. She surveyed the house with a sweep of her head, confusion mounting every second. "Where's Sydney?"

The gunsmith usually spent her hours reading in the common area near the pantry. She would lie sprawled in the comfiest (and only) couch in this house with a cup of coffee on the table nearby, refusing to share the two-seater couch no matter what.

But the couch was empty, and house emptier still.

"Ah." Wadsworth floated over to the Nuka-Cola vending machine in the pantry. "She instructed me to hand you this. The Madame left in quite a hurry."

Jenessa trailed after her butler, reaching there just in time to take whatever Sydney left for her: a note.

"Jen," Jenessa read aloud, holding the note aloft under a light. "Emaline's in trouble. Gone treasure hunting for a few days to help her out. Don't worry, I haven't ditched your sorry arse yet. Have fun saving the world."

_Typical Sydney_ , Jenessa thought with a smile. _Frank and to the point._

"I did remind the Madame about the need for etiquette and proper salutations in letter drafting, but she brushed me off. Your... _housemate_ is terribly uncivilised."

Jenessa crumpled the note and headed for the stairs. "Wads, you know her. And we're not living in Tenpenny Tower. I don't see the point of such niceties anymore, especially in this day and age."

The Mr Handy stuttered indignantly before sighing. "Very well, Madame. If my presence is no longer required, I shall activate shutdown protocols."

"Feel free," Jenessa called over her shoulder at the top of the stairs. The confirmatory hiss was all she needed to hear.

Changing out of her soaked coveralls wasn't easy; she had to literally peel off the fabric from her skin, and her fists caught in her coveralls' narrow sleeves.

Once she was comfortably clad in a dry tank top and shorts - _Vault-Tec issued_ \- and her drenched clothes hung to dry in the loo, Jenessa snuggled under ratty blankets on her bed.

Rain still battered the zinc walls and roof, but there wasn't thunder anymore. Had there been, Wadsworth would still be powered up, and she'd be sitting on the red couch below, body tense like a coiled spring.

But now, she was safe. For the first time in months, she fell asleep with her father's voice in her ears, singing a lullaby she'll never hear again.

* * *

It was still raining in the morning. Though it wasn't in sheets, the light drizzle still obscured; blurring the harsh lines of Megaton's buildings, and revealing a softer shade of its typical grunge.

That effect left Jenessa mesmerised, though a bit too much. By the time she remembered the bowl of soup on the countertop in front of her, it was already tepid. She stirred the soup twice with her spoon, before giving up to watch the scenery again.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Jenny Stahl remarked. Jenessa hadn't noticed her polishing glasses at the end of the counter till now.

"Yeah." Jenessa stuck out a palm, letting the rain splatter her skin. Today, it was refreshingly cool instead of scalding. "Oh! It isn't irradiated this time, Ms Stahl. I can finally dance in the rain."

It was her newfound hobby, discovered when she was traipsing across Grayditch with a kid ten years her junior. Seeing water fall from the sky for the very first time, it'd taken Bryan all his strength to drag her back into the diner before the irradiated rain ate through her vault suit.

Excited, Jenessa stood quickly, only to sit again. She grimaced at her food. "Maybe after my soup. I keep forgetting things I put off doing."

"Right," Stahl grinned, bemused. All the glasses she polished had disappeared from the countertop - now, she reached into the nearby fridge and slid a bottle of Nuka-Cola to Jenessa. "There's more in the fridge, by the way," Stahl winked. "Don't bother with payment."

Before Jenessa could protest, Stahl disappeared inside the Brass Lantern.

Jenessa squirmed on her seat. People kept doing this to her, and this lavished attention had begun to unsettle her. Life in the wasteland was already hard, and if these handouts cost these people more than they could afford...

A brilliant idea took root. Jenessa glanced around surreptitiously, checking if the people walking about town paid any attention to her. There wasn't. In fact, the town centre was deserted. Doc Church's windows were still dark, and he usually opened his clinic early in the morning. Neither could she hear Confessor Cromwell and his proselytising; the sound of his voice grated on her nerves sometimes.

She slid off her stool and hastened to the fridge. An effortless tug opened its doors. Jenessa placed the Nuka-Cola bottle with its other friends on a lower shelf and prepared herself to close the door carefully.

Then, water splashed behind her.

Jenessa jumped. The fridge door slammed shut. She barely kept on her feet as she spun around, cheeks aflame with embarrassment. Her plans _always_ went awry.

" _Susie Mack_?" Jenessa blurted, her spinning thoughts bumped up a speed level. She couldn't believe her eyes: it was the familiar gaunt face and salmon-pink hair that had been a iconic sight in the vault. "Fancy seeing you here in my humble abode."

Susie was unsurprisingly unamused. "Still the flamboyant bigmouth, I see," she panted, hands on her hips. (Did she run here?). Since Susie stood a whole head and neck taller, Jenessa was _unfortunately_ confronted with the sight of a heaving chest in her face. Not that Jenessa opposed it, more like how was she supposed to hide her blushing now? "I've got a message for you from Amata."

Susie reached into her satchel hanging her side to find it, but that action went unnoticed by Jenessa. Her brain had ceased to function at 'message' and 'Amata'.

Her bestest friend had acknowledged her existence. _And_ needed to talk to her.

"Jenessa? You there?"

"Ah," Jenessa started, the nervous smile still frozen on her face. First she saw Susie's one raised eyebrow, then the sealed envelope between Susie's fingers. It took her a second to recognise the need to take the letter from Susie's grasp. So she did.

It was damp to the touch. Jenessa stared at it, holding it by the corner with a pinch of her index finger and thumb. She could feel at least a sheet of paper, maybe two. Amata always re-evaluated her ideas at least thrice to close up any loopholes. Or it could be a message that was entirely unrelated to business. Her friend never could express her feelings well, but when it came to writing them out? Diaries weren't enough to hold 'em all.

Did she feel the same? Or was that kiss a terrible mistake? Were they still friends? Was the Vault stable enough for her to return? Could the residents accept her again?

Jenessa decided that she didn't want to read it. "What, she wants me back in the Vault? I don't know about you, but I distinctly remember her telling me to never return." She chucked the letter on the counter, and it bounced a few inches.

"She needs your help on something," Susie answered, ignoring the jibe. "Trade-related, I think. Or security. You've wandered the wastes, after all."

Susie was all-business, and the combat shotgun slung on her left shoulder completed her 'don't-mess-with-me' look. If she had an scar on her face, she'd blend in perfectly with a crew of raiders. Like Jericho. They both wore leather jackets and boots.

Jenessa pursed her lips, releasing a breath that lasted at least five seconds. She lumbered back to her seat, scrolling though the multitude of reasons why she couldn't return to the vault.

Well, not really. Her mind was tellingly blank.

"Okay, okay." Jenessa sat once more, sinking on the stool. "I'll drop by soon. You'll be telling her that, then?"

"Nope, I'm on a caravan run to Canterbury Commons. I just dropped by to deliver her message." Susie hesitated, then placed a hand on Jenessa's shoulder. "People do miss you, Jen." She smiled softly. "Especially her."

_Even more than her own father?_ With the look levelled her way, Jenessa could only grunt. It was part disbelief, part resignation. She truly wanted to believe that. She'd give anything to wipe her life clean and begin again, but she couldn't. It was simply hopeless. She knew the feeling; it lingered like a shadow off her shoulder, never to leave.

Almost a year ago, her Pip-Boy detected Vault 101's distress signal. She walked into the vault an optimist, but left it a realist.

She watched Susie hurry away in the drizzle, gracefully avoiding the water puddles with hops and skips. It reminded her of rabbits, the Pre-War animal that they learnt about in school. Amata liked rabbits too.

Grabbing her spoon, Jenessa began to eat. Today's special, Stahl's Surprise, was simply an opaque, brownish liquid with chunks of roasted squirrel bobbing about in the water. Normally, she relished the sensation of soft squirrel that melted in her mouth, because the Vault's synthesised food and canned SPAM were like plastic boards compared to this. Today, her thoughts were as murky as the colour of her soup. The meat tasted eerily like chunks of rubber.

She shook her head slowly. _What have I gotten myself into?_

She went back to the fridge for that bottle of Nuka-Cola she returned.

* * *

Ever since she staggered into Megaton, weighed down by the possibility of never seeing her father ever again, the broken-off fuselage of an airplane was what she gravitated to. Seeing it on holovids and pictures was one thing, but the real one was another - so that was where she ran to, troubles chased away by the thrill of discovering technology.

And boy, was it magnificent up close.

Even a year later, that chunk of metal still grabbed her attention. She wondered how the metal would feel like under her fingers, how its circuitry meshed together to form connections that gave its shell the capacity to fly.

Moira already explained that to her the first time they met, of course. But feeling it was vastly different from hearing about it.

_One day,_ she told herself, as she stepped into The Craterside Supply. She'd clamber up there to take a peek at the wiring, hoping so very much that the scavvers hadn't torn it out for scrap.

"Jen! Thank goodness you're here, I just gotta show you this!"

Before Jenessa could even close the door behind her, Moira had grasped her arm and pulled her along.

"Ow!" Jenessa yelped. She skidded all the way, barely keeping up with Moira's frenzied pace. Glumface the bodyguard shrugged at them as they passed. "Is it so important that it simply can't wait?"

"You'll see!" Moira turned into the workshop. "It's really, really, _really_ important."

Once inside, the crisp smell of incinerated carbon hit Jenessa like a Protectron's punch. She shrugged off Moira's vice to cough out the itch in her throat, and it came out in a wheeze.

Jenessa swiped at the air in front of her face, hoping that it would chase the dust away. "Moira, did you just..." she said, voice trailing away when her gaze landed on the pistol on Moira's cluttered workbench.

Beside her, Moira gushed. "Isn't it beautiful?"

Jenessa thought it was. Before, the plasma housing of her pistol glowed a neon green; a hideous colour she tolerated only because a plasma pistol's cell to shot rate far outstripped that of an average laser pistol. Now, seeing the crimson glow of the pistol housing light up the worktable, Jenessa was practically bouncing on her feet.

Moira skipped over to the workbench. "Remember how we were discussing about how strobe lights could flash different colours? That's how!" She jabbed at the pistol in sync with her words. "I loosened the safety hook in the firing chamber to increase the cyclic speed of the photon resonator. That generates more heat per shot, so you'll get red plasma instead of that ugly shade of green. But it means it'll overheat faster so you can't be firing continuously until your cartridge's discharged all its plasma. I recommend at most five shots at a stretch if-"

Jenessa wasn't listening. Not because those terms flew over her head - she perfectly understood the tech jargon that Moira was chittering about at bullet-speed. (Come on, she _was_ a techie). No, her attention was focused instead on the thick, copper coils wrapped around the pistol's barrel. Almost like a catalysing unit, or some form of heat sink.

She went closer and brushed her fingers against it. It was cold to the touch. "Moira, what's this?"

"-and the magazine capacity is now-" Moira paused for a moment, hand raised in explanation, before sidling closer to Jenessa. "It's an _amplifier_ ," she whispered with a conspiratorial wink.

Jenessa had a feeling that she'd love this feature. She picked up her pistol and held it like she would a baby. "For? Don't keep me waiting please, I'm already having kittens thinking about the possibilities."

Currently, Moira was beaming like a child with too much candy; but somehow her expression got much brighter. "I think it's time for a de-mon-stra-tion!"

She placed both her hands on Jenessa's shoulders and steered the shorter woman deeper into the workshop. Light barely filtered through the rafters here, forcing Jenessa to hold her pistol out like a lamp. Not that she needed to, really, because the hours spent here tinkering with Moira had burnt the layout of the room into her mind.

Once they were at the corner furthest from the entrance, Moira let go of Jenessa to pat the walls with her palms. She mumbled to herself throughout her search, letting out a triumphant yell when she grabbed hold of the rope end of a lever. Moira pulled it.

Jenessa jumped as a dummy dropped out of the ceiling in an explosion of dust, where it dangled precariously off its cord tether. _That_ had completely escaped her notice.

Jenessa looked to her pistol, the straw-sack dummy, the various combustibles and explosives lining the wall-shelves, before settling with a hesitant look aimed at the redhead. "Uh, Moira, is this a good idea? _Inside_ your workshop?"

Jenessa slowly edged away from the ten-kilo barrel of Mr Handy fuel beside the wall on her right.

"Of _course_ it is. That's what workshops are for, right? For _marvellous_ mayhem and mishaps." Moira's upbeatness felt alarmingly suspect to Jenessa. But of course, the techie in her usually drowned out the misgivings of her reasonable side. Today was no exception.

"Your pistol operates like before. _But_ , if you hold the trigger two seconds longer-" Moira nudged her shoulder and winked "- the _magic_ happens."

Jenessa eased into a firing stance: squared shoulders, feet firm on the floor and two hands gripping her pistol's stock. With the added modifications, it was a touch heavier than before. And twitched occasionally too - she tried not to dwell. "So. I just have to press it longer..."

A blast bucked her. She saw, in inexplicable slowness, a bright red blob streak through the air and gooify the dummy on impact.

Then, she was knocked off her feet by a burst of air and a lot more sand. The pistol clattered to a side.

"Ow." Her behind ached from the hard landing, but at least she wasn't dead. She hoped.

Moira lay sprawled against a cupboard, flung there by the blast. She got to her feet with jerky motions, but the goofy smile was still stretched between her cheeks. "See! I told you it'd be _amazing._ "

Jenessa didn't reply. Instead, she stood as fast as she could, a frown on her face.

"Jen?" Moira's smile faltered as Jenessa stomped towards her, doggedly ignoring the sharp aches pricking all over her body.

Her fellow techie and the iconic blue jumpsuit she wore was all Jenessa saw in her haste. She slammed her hands on Moira's biceps, one on each, much to the redhead's discomfort.

Moira was certain the younger woman hadn't taken well to her usual, explosive show - but Jenessa's frown morphed into an ear-splitting grin.

"It's great!" Jenessa hugged the taller woman. She tried to lift Moira, and succeeded in raising her an inch, but dropped her instantly after. "Thank you _so_ much for this. I can't wait to try this out on a mutie."

Moira, jumpsuit creased and body winded from the gesture, tottered on her feet. She picked up the pistol and ambled back to Jenessa, looking as if a gust of wind could topple her. "I'm so glad you like it. I hoped that you would because these few days I keep seeing you gloomy and defeated and it makes me sad too."

Moira's tone had softened towards the end, filled only with her friend's inexhaustible amount of genuine concern. She gave it so freely and selflessly, Jenessa didn't realise the wetness in her eyes until she wiped them away with her knuckles.

Speechless, Jenessa accepted the pistol. Thank-you's felt vastly inadequate in this situation, but lucky for her, she had something in mind.

"You ladies alright in there?" A bob of black hair popped into the room at the door first, before someone with a broken nose stepped in - Moira's bodyguard, Bobby (a nickname, because _everyone_ butchered Boehner). The interest in their welfare would've been touching too, if not for Bobby's disinterested expression. That's why Jenessa called him Glumface.

But really: Moira in her workshop and something explodes? Not just once, but Every. Single. Day? Jenessa bet she'd be awfully blasé after a while, too.

"Everything's okay!" Moira exclaimed, shooing Bobby out. "No one's hurt. Or screaming. Right?"

"Right." Jenessa nodded along furiously. With laughter threatening to bubble from her throat, she struggled to keep her features composed in a serious expression. "We're okay."

"Good. Because I'm off to Jenny's for some mash." Bobby ducked back into the other room. A second later, they heard the front door creak open and closed.

In the lull, Jenessa felt miffed. The charged instance of before was undeniably lost; an instance she'd wanted to savour. In the wasteland, maudlin was a safety hazard and an unfortunate rarity - but she thrived on openness.

"Normally I would say thank you and give you a hug," Jenessa began, turning to Moira. "But I have a better idea. You know that last assignment you had for me?"

"Ooh!" Moira clapped her hands together. "Yes, the one about Rivet City's history. People need to know about a settlement's success story. It'll be _so_ motivational!"

A smile tugged at Jenessa's lips. Moira's enthusiasm was contagious. "I'm ready to do that for the Survival Guide. It'll give me something else to think about and distract myself for a while."

There must've been something off in her tone, because the redhead laid a hand on Jenessa's arm. "Jen, you know you don't have to do this if you still can't. I may not precisely understand how tough the past year has been for you, but I'm aware that you need time for yourself."

"No, I'm ready." Jenessa eased the hand from her arm. "More than ready," she repeated, meeting Moira's gaze head-on. Because after visiting the Vault, twiddling her thumbs in Megaton felt like asking for trouble. And if that visit _did_ go wrong...

"Great! I just need you to talk to people. Someone should know something about...that thing." Jenessa took a step back as Moira paced in circles, fingers tapping away at a chin dirtied by dust. "Try the old ones. If Mother Manya knows as much as she does, Father Clifford should too."

"Yeah, but I'm helping you clean up first." Jenessa swept her hands across the workshop, marvelling at how Moira hadn't died from asthma or some lung-related disease yet. The mini-explosion had kicked up so much filth Jenessa swore the layer of dust coating the numerous surfaces in the workshop had thickened by a few inches. "You wouldn't want to turn down the help of Megaton's greatest clean-up artist, would you?"

Moira skidded to a halt with a pout. "Oh, _fine_. But!-" she waggled a finger "-there's another clean-up artist in this town."

Jenessa smiled, knowing full well what Moira was about to say. "Who?"

"Me," Moira said, chest puffing at the declaration.

Suddenly, today felt a little brighter, and the inevitable trip back to Vault 101 (her _home_ , for crying out loud. Why was she so clinical?) was a tiny line in Jenessa's mental checklist. It was going to be alright.

So she went over to the cupboard of cleaning implements with a skip in her step. "Yay us, cleaning the world one mess at a time."

She needed to do this more often.

* * *

Even after a whole year or so walking the Capital Wasteland, Jenessa didn't think she could ever get used to the environment.

After Megaton became no bigger than a speck on the horizon, the sight of dead nature and disintegrating relics courtesy of humanity was thrust in her face everywhere she turned.

Every step she took crunched either brambles or splinters of gravel; items dislodged by the elements and the passing of time, both forces unforgiving in their persistence. There wasn't a day when she didn't dwell on how her home would've looked like before the bombs fell, because the wasteland wouldn't have looked so desolate if it hadn't been much before. Only the grandest of things could be brought so low, she knew, and that notion occupied her thoughts as she plodded onwards on ruined tar roads, the sun rising at her back.

As it stood, three people were aware of her future whereabouts. Moira was the obvious one, since she was why Jenessa was off to chase after ghosts on a moored ship. The other two happened to be Nova and Gob - technically, she only informed the ghoul because Nova was busy entertaining a client. But since the two were as thick as thieves, secrets were probably scarce between them; this tidbit on her plans included. Gob would tell Nova eventually - and hopefully, it stopped there. Jenessa wasn't sure she wanted Moriarty to know. That fellow creeped her out at worst, and unsettled her at best.

Even with the morning sun shining bright in the sky, the cold wrapped itself around her skin. It seeped between the layers of her clothes; ignoring the wool-lined brown parka she wore, and even the blue overalls and the plain shirt under it. Winter (or whatever that passed for it) had arrived in the wasteland, in the month of October.

On a whim, Jenessa pulled the goggles around her neck up and around her eyes. Next, she raised the hood of her parka. Though the tip of her nose still felt like a chunk of ice, the chills stopped running all over her back.

After four false scares with harmless wildlife (yes, they were birds, but she couldn't see clearly through a _fog_ , could she?) she was trudging up a familiar slope for the second time in her life. Every inch of her being prayed that the her previous experience returning here would have little bearing on today. Much as she tried to deny it, her heart might just shatter at another emotional hammering.

Not by any old hammer, though. That particular tool was held by a certain brunette, whose name was enough to wrench Jenessa's heartstrings.

The cave entrance came into view just as her breathing deepened. Involuntarily, she jerked to a stop, the mere sight of it enough to spark the glimmer of dread in her belly.

"There's absolutely nothing to worry about," she insisted to herself. "You're just meeting up with Amata. Your...friend. The very best." Each sentence was punctuated with a step that took her closer to the entrance, and she was suddenly _inside_ the passageway. "She just wants your help. Everything's okay in the Vault. Nobody wants to kill you. They want you back."

Jenessa was cold all over. But sweat trickled down her back and moistened her palms. She wasn't really okay.

"You don't have to stay. Maybe this'll just last one day. Ah, yes. Try to conclude this business by evening so things don't get awkward. Distance is important. She might not even consider you a friend anymore. So lower your expectations."

Her boots knocked against metal. She glanced up, disoriented by the jarring interruption of thought, but her insides seized instead.

_Vault 101_ , the faded lettering read. It'd been a year since she last came, and the paint still looked as chipped as ever.

Jenessa inhaled once, before clicking away at the console propped up beside the Vault's door. A-M-A-T-A, she typed, before pulling the lever beside the keyboard. It was stuck. Only lights blinked on its mechanical instrument panel.

She recognised the series of intermittent blue and yellow flashes - it was elementary, anyway. "Wrong password?" she mumbled, confusion settling in the pit of her stomach.

In her letter, Amata had left little to the imagination. She had written out, in explicit detail, her plans to transform Vault 101 into a trade outpost. Since it was already in motion, that wasn't what her friend needed help with. Jenessa's help was needed regarding the mechanical upkeep of the Vault. Apparently it was falling apart, no matter how much overtime Stanley and his legion of technicians put in to patch up the problems that kept popping out.

But seriously. If Amata needed her, then why didn't the password work?

Jenessa tried again. She pressed the same buttons with more force this time, but the the lever refused to budge. Only the echo of tapped keypresses accompanied her mounting incomprehension, ringing ominous in the passageway. (The skeletons too, she noted with amusement. Years since the Vault opened and they didn't bother with front-door housekeeping).

She couldn't understand. Amata said the password hadn't changed. But here she was, barred access by a console that doggedly rejected her password.

Her hand hovered over the microphone button, but it crackled to life before she could activate it.

"And just who do you think you are? Demanding access to the vault like that."

Jenessa's breath caught. Of all officers to talk to, it had to be Grandpa Taylor; the crotchety old man who'd blamed her for Grandma Taylor's death. His accusations still haunted her till today - not 'cause they were true, but because they weren't wrong either. Self-loathing still choked her on the best of days, and it certainly choked her today.

"It's Jenessa," she swallowed thickly. "Jenessa Abernathy McKinley. James' daughter. I heard that my presence was requested by the Overseer."

A moment's pause. "Who?" he spluttered. "Look, I don't know who you are and what you want with the Overseer, but you're not welcome here. Outsiders are not welcome in the Vault. No exceptions."

Jenessa's heart started to race. Things were spiralling beyond her control. What if Susie Mack had been playing her for a fool? And being the lovesick, optimistic numbskull she was, she'd believed her unquestioningly.

But no. _No._ That couldn't be true. This was all a misunderstanding. Officer Taylor had to have recognised her. He'd spluttered at her name.

She leaned into the console, gripping its edges tightly. "Officer Taylor, is it? Don't you recognise my voice, well, _me_? You used to call me Jen. The girl who liked touching robots a little too much. Grandma Taylor loved baking sweetrolls for me and-"

"Stop it!" A chair scraped harshly against the floor. It came from the intercom. "You have _no_ right to talk about her."

_Oh dear._ This wasn't what she'd planned _at all._

Jenessa was backing away from the console now, palms held out as if they've been burnt. It took all her concentration to not collapse in a heap, shaking uncontrollably in panic, but she was cognisant enough to hear Officer Taylor's next words.

"Go away! _Leave_. You're nothing but trouble and the Vault doesn't _need_ you around! Alphonse should've never allowed the both of you into this vault."

_Nothing but trouble._ Of all things, those three words rang in Jenessa's ears. _Trouble._ Words that could still wiggle into the tiniest corners of her composure and explode, spewing its toxic fragments everywhere and leaving no inch of her composure intact.

"So no. I will _not_ open this door for you!"

She took off in the wake of more shouting over the line, nervous energy fuelling her bounding steps up and out of the passageway. Back into the cold fog and morning sun.

Amata needed her, but the Vault's denizens didn't. She couldn't stand at the entrance anymore. She couldn't hear more of Officer Taylor's hurled abuse. Maybe she'd give it a week or month before returning. Or maybe she shouldn't at all.

It was in this flurry of thoughts when Jenessa swore she heard Amata's voice calling out to her. But even the earth-shaking groan of a Vault door dragging open was silent to her ears, because she was miles away from the entrance, sprinting as fast as a wanted woman with tears glinting on her cheeks.

She didn't stop until her legs folded beneath her by the banks of the Potomac River, sending her crashing headlong into mud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I claim zero knowledge about physics and how it changes the colour of lights. That was entirely based on what I remember from an inorganic chemistry chapter on transition metals. Which was in 2014.


	2. Overseer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Overseer's perspective on things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> change in tense here because this chapter was meant to be a continuation of [It](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5176094) but seriously I wished I wasn't so busy with everything. So here it is as a conclusion of sorts to the f!LW/Amata saga.
> 
> Want to cry some more? Listen to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2xHOt_9yfb8) while reading this chapter :')

Two years down the road, she still has Jenessa's gift. It's worn on a cord around her neck: close to her skin, close to her heart.

She thinks of her friend in the days when overseeing the Vault isn't as taxing on her as it used to. Those times, she'll fiddle with the bottlecap around her neck, wondering if Jenessa's doing alright out there; living the life she was always meant to, terrorising robots and being the shining ball of sunshine she is.

No matter what, the bottlecap pendant's always warm to her touch.

She's always believed that the moment her thoughts drift to her friend, it's because Jenessa's thinking of her too. An idle fancy that's downright impossible - cringe-worthy, even - but like all other secrets she squirrels away, it's buried under layers of outward indifference and professionalism. Being Overseer is many things, most of it headache-inducing, but it provides her a wonderful excuse: _No, I'm not dating anyone and I don't plan to. Just look at the things I need to settle. And especially_ not _you, Wally_.

Using that line gives her some sort of sick amusement, even vindication at times. With how eager suitors persistently threw themselves at her despite repeatedly insisting that she was simply not interested, why wouldn't she? Plus, it had _nothing_ to do with her feelings for a certain techie. Absolutely.

Two buzzer blasts knock her out of her tranquil state, but her fingers still trace the necklace tucked under her Vault jumpsuit's high collar. She spins on her wheely-chair to the wall of terminals behind her, eyes darting from left to right in search of the notification's source. It's the notification sound of a strange request she hasn't heard in a while: for some reason, Vault security had overridden a system command twice. Given her role as the Overseer, it's her duty to discover why - even if she isn't, she cares enough about her people to do so.

 _There._ Her eyes settle on a terminal monitoring datafeeds from the entrance chamber.

She stands all of a sudden, hands falling to her sides. The on-screen message blinks back at her, the green text daring her to contradict it. Apparently, someone had activated the vault door with the correct password. From the _outside_. If Amata remembered right, only one person was privy to that secret.

Her guards have never seen her exit the office as fast as this before.

It's like she can't run fast enough. Her journey to the entrance chamber is filled with near-collisions and almost-trippings as she scrambles down stairs and across rooms. Vault denizens leap out of her way, afraid of being knocked down by this unstoppable juggernaut. Euphoria bursts from her very being, but dread fills the widening tears in her patchwork of emotions - ripped and repaired relentlessly these past few years. She's been disappointed far too many times to find it in herself to be blindly optimistic like before.

Hence, it's with a grimace when she bursts into the entrance chamber. Panic seizes her when she sees the Vault door firmly in place, undeniably _shut_ , and she realises that _something is so very wrong._

"What's going on?" she exclaims, running towards the tiny side-room on her left. "Bill!"

Officer Taylor jumps at the sound of his name. His features are especially wrinkled now, as if he's been frowning the whole time during his shift. "Ma'am," he stutters, gripping the back of his chair to stop from falling. "It's nothing. Some wastelander tried to-"

"Jenessa," Amata says simply, and Officer Taylor gapes. "You didn't let her in."

The older man's unspoken admission is telling enough. This is how it's like to have the floor fall out from beneath her, she thinks.

"Well of _course_ I didn't." He stands a bit taller, brows drawn close together. "We don't need troublemakers like he-"

She shoves him aside to reach the counter behind him. Placed on it is a control panel with raised keycaps, and she smashes in the master override code that only she, as Overseer, is aware of - hopefully.

Officer Taylor hasn't tried to stop her, and she's glad. Doing so will only worsen his case of gross insubordination, unless someone else in Vault Security is responsible for the breakdown in communication. Not like she's enthusiastic about needing to resolve that in the first place.

The welcome klaxon blares through the stifling air, shocking her legs into motion. She leaps down a couple of stairs and thoughtlessly slips through the widening space between the Vault door and its frame, even though she's seen the moving mechanical parts slice off limbs before.

It's so bitterly unfair, the way she can smell the hint of dust and oil lingering in the passageway. Like the last few years being just a bad dream, that it hasn't happened. Even her bottlecap necklace had stopped smelling like that after the first month. That's all she can think of in the silence, broken only by the thunderous echo of boots.

When sunlight warms her skin, blinding her for an instant, Jenessa's still nowhere to be found. She sees the bootprints, smaller in size, leading away from her right and towards the Potomac, but nothing of the ginger-hair woman whose infectious laughter was what Amata missed so terribly.

Her back hunched, she's gasping hard for air, her shoulders sagging with the weight of a jumpsuit soaked on the inside with sweat. _No_ , she thinks, shaking her head furiously. _No._ She picks herself up and meanders about the area, searching for things that Jenessa might've dropped or snagged on the rocks in her clumsiness. She's blinking back sweat (or are they tears?) now, until her eyes sting and she rubs them with a shaky hand.

Down the sloped path she goes, stumbling over her steps (and it's _not_ because she's struggling to keep herself together from simply giving in, she reminds herself) calling (yelling) her friend's name until her throat chafes from the effort, but even then, with her voice hoarse, she doesn't stop.

But it's too late. The bootprints disappear into dilapidated tarmac and she's now chasing ghosts. Phantoms that linger in scent and memory and incorporeality.

She sinks to the ground, unwilling and unable to comprehend how a simple matter of retrieval can go so very _wrong._ The way she conceptualised it, the operation should've been slick and smooth: Susie Mack, the trustworthy courier of her letter, and Officer Gomez, her dependable eyes and ears as Head of Security - a stabilising influence on the Vault's isolationist faction insisting on keeping the Vault permanently sealed.

Countless explanations unravel in her mind, but does it really matter?

Jenessa is gone. And five years of waiting stretches on.


End file.
